My Little Black Book

I carried it with me everywhere I went and for as long as could remember. My grandmother gifted me a little black book when I was a teenager. It looked more like a black leather journal that was handwoven from the 18th century. She said that the book held mystical spiritual energies that would reveal themselves to me in time. She told me to journal in it whenever I felt unhappy, mad at the world, or exciting news that brought happiness to my life. My little black book would be my confidant, my best friend, and my shoulder of support that would get me through the next several decades.

Whenever I became disillusioned with life, heartbroken, betrayed, and angry over a missed opportunity, I wrote down my innermost feelings. I reached down in the belly of my soul and poured my heart out on the tattered pages of my journal. In those moments that little black book became my counselor of knowledge that gave me the strength to persevere.

There were many magical times as well, marriage, children, milestones, and achievements in life. They all contributed to the wonderful moments that were captured inside the pages that I carried with me. The words had a way of highlighting the harder times in my life rather than the joyful times.

My grandmother is now a very old woman sitting in a chair staring out a window in a nursing home. She doesn’t recognize me anymore, but I like to visit her on the weekends and hold her hand. I’m not sure if the visits are more for my benefit because I haven’t seen a lucid moment or that sparkle in her eye to give me some sense that she is still inside her failing body.

My grandmother was the strongest woman I have ever known. She faced many challenges in life, she buried children, she took care of her family, she boarded people in need and she always remained grateful. She took her tragedies in life with grace and instead of it making her bitter, she was more empathetic and loving. The least I could do was to set aside time in my day to sit with a woman who deserved my love.

On my regular visit to the nursing home, I saw my grandmother positioned out in the courtyard looking in her usual empty stare. As I walked over to her, I dropped my car keys by her chair and proceeded to pick them up. I felt a hand reach over to my coat pocket and grab the little black book that was falling out. As I looked up, my grandmother was holding my little black book in her hands and clasping it to her chest with an awakened smile and a tenderness in her eyes.

Words were never uttered from her mouth but the glow in her face let me know that she was still inside that body that had betrayed her. I had forgotten what she had told me all those years ago when she gave me that little black book, until now. “This book holds mystical and spiritual energies that will reveal itself to you in time.” I wonder what she meant by that and I wonder if it was true?

When I arrived home, I set my little black book on the kitchen counter. Several hours later I picked it up to journal my day and saw that it was sitting on top of a newspaper with an ad for a writing contest underneath it. I read the article half-heartedly as it detailed the guidelines and potential prize money. My grandmother was always my biggest supporter and encouraged me to write, that is why she gave me the journal.

In dedication and love for her, I decided to put my jumbled thoughts on paper. I created a story from bits and pieces of my decades of emotions documented in my little black book. After all, it truly wasn’t about the prize money, it was more about preserving the memory of a woman who believed in me. Once I sat down and put pen to paper, it didn’t take long to imagine a story, complete it and then submit it.

I suppose you could say that I let go and let the Universe take control. I forgot about it until a few weeks later when the phone rang. The man on the other end of the phone stated that my story won first place and that I would be receiving 20,000 dollars. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! I immediately drove to the nursing home to tell my grandmother the exciting news. My story won! My little black book gave me good luck and she was right!

It was too late; my grandmother took her last breath minutes before my arrival. It was as though she waited to leave this earth long enough for me to receive the magic from my little black book. I later realized that my grandmother had no more savings to pay for her goodbye in this world. I contributed that money for a memorial to her and used the rest of the money to invest in me. From that day forward, I became a writer. From that day forward, I found myself and my purpose in life. From that day forward, I never took for granted the mystical powers of my little black book.